Dawn of Sorrows
by Vypress
Summary: He was the pawn of Jack of Blades his entire life. This is Maze's story. [UPDATED!]
1. Prologue Pt 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fable, Maze, or Jack.

SUMMARY: He was the pawn of Jack of Blades his entire life. This is Maze's story.

**Fable**

**Dawn of Sorrows  
**

_Maze was a private man. He never spoke about his past. I asked him once, and for the briefest of moments, I saw fear flickering in his glowing blue eyes. I had never seen him so afraid before or even since. Then he would steel himself and say, "I don't want to talk about it; if you ever want to continue being my friend, then don't ever ask me again," and then go back to what we were doing as if nothing had ever happened._

**--Weaver, Guildmaster of the Guild of Heroes**

The boy was crouched by the lake, intently staring at a glowing blue mushroom. He had never seen one before. All the mushrooms he had ever seen were plain and brown. But this one was strangely beautiful—and hypnotic. He reached out and lightly poked it.

His parents said that they were going on a trip, that they were going to stay with some relatives in Oakvale for the winter. The boy had never been on a trip before, and so he was very excited. He saw so many new things. But it was a long trip though. They had to go all the way through Greatwood and Darkwood, and they weren't out yet. The trip had already taken one day, and now the sun was going down again. It would be dark soon, and it was already getting cold.

He and his family had stopped at one of the highway shelters along the road. His father had said that these shelters were built so that weary travelers like themselves could have a place to sleep for the night. While it wasn't anything like home, at least it had a bed.

His mother and father were out looking for food—they had said something about saving their supplies for the trip—and they had asked him to gather some kindling for the fire. He had already had a small bundle tucked under his arm when he got sidetracked by the mushrooms. They were so pretty. He wanted to tell his parents about them. Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from the mushrooms and started back toward the house. He would wait for them there. But just before he got to the clearing, a howl suddenly pierced the air, and the boy froze. A Balverine!

The boy's father had told him that if he ever were to hear one, then he should get back inside immediately. But the Balverine sounded so close, as if it were not that far behind him. He was so scared; he took off running toward the house.

Then suddenly another sound pierced the air, but this time it was the sound of human screaming. The boy stopped, dropping his sticks on the ground in an untidy heap. He thought immediately of his mother and father. They were in trouble.

He jumped out of the tallgrass into the clearing—and he nearly fell back, totally unprepared for what he saw. His mother and father were on the ground, screaming in agony and desperately thrashing about as a pack of Balverines devoured them alive. There was blood everywhere, and the sound of ripping flesh and crunching bone soon overcame their rapidly silencing screams.

The boy shook violently, fighting tears as he clawed his way back into the tallgrass. But then he heard something else that chilled his blood—the racing of the Balverine that had been behind him. He thought he was going to die. The Balverine had gotten so close to him that he could smell it, that he could feel its hot breath as it pounced into the air. But before there was any contact, there was an explosion. The boy instinctively covered his face. When he summoned the courage to look up again, the Balverine laid next to him, charred to the bone.

Time seemed to stop, and the boy looked toward the source of the explosion. The other Balverines looked up too. Three men stood on the pathway leading toward the shelter. From this distance, the boy couldn't make out any details other than they all wore robes.

The Balverines, furious at this disturbance, started to rush them. Then very casually, one of the robed figures raised his arms into the air, and all the boy could do was watch as fire began to gather them. Then suddenly, the robed figure released his fireball, and the Balverines went up like living torches, howling in pain and misery as they ran around trying to put themselves out. They were dead within seconds.

The boy trembled, unable to move as his young mind tried to take it all in. His parents…

Two of the figures walked to where his parents lay. The other—the one who had destroyed the Balverines—walked toward him. The stranger stopped barely two feet away, just staring at him. He wore a red cloak and black armor, and he had a mask. He was as sinister as the Balverines. The boy curled into a ball and began to cry.

The other two strangers joined them. These two weren't dressed like the third. Instead, they wore the robes of the Guild of Heroes. The boy's father had told him about them. "Dead," the first one said solemnly, tilting his head toward the two bodies.

"What are we going to do?" the second one asked.

The third one remained silent.

"Well, Oakvale is not too far from here. Maybe there's someone there who knows him."

The second one crouched down. He placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. The boy looked up, tears streaming from his crystal blue eyes. "It'll be okay. What's your name?"

The boy didn't answer. Instead, his eyes drifted toward the dark one. He had yellow eyes, evil eyes. The boy couldn't bear to look at them, yet they were also so strangely hypnotic. The boy didn't move, not even when he heard the screams of the two Guildsmen, dying of some unseen force, or saw the fires engulfing their still bodies. He didn't move when the dark figure scooped him up in his arms and they disappeared together in a swirl of thick blue light.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is stand-alone for now, but I do have a larger one in mind, so stay tuned for that.


	2. Prologue Pt 2

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fable, Maze, or Jack.

SUMMARY: He was the pawn of Jack of Blades his entire life. This is Maze's story.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I need to take a quick hiatus from this as school is really starting to heat up. (I'm actually supposed to be doing homework right now. :P ) Well, enjoy!

**Fable**

**Dawn of Sorrows**

The boy groggily opened his eyes, wiping away sleep as he tried to take in his surroundings. It was dark, and he suddenly noticed that he wasn't in his own bed. He vaguely remembered that he and his parents had stopped at one of the highway shelters in Darkwood for the night. That must be where he is now.

"Momma? Papa?" he called out. He had just had the most dreadful dream.

For a moment there was silence, but then he heard the scratching of a match, and he turned his head just in time to see the dimly illuminated figure of a man in a white mask. "They're dead," the man said, his voice quiet and almost silky. The boy froze. It was the same man from his dreams: the dark one who wore the red cloak and the black armor. He had evil-looking eyes. "Do you remember what happened?" he asked.

The boy swallowed, and suddenly memories came rushing like a flood to his young mind. Tears were already forming in his crystal blue eyes as he began to see images of fire and blood. "Th-the Balverines…" he choked.

"Yes. Yes, there were Balverines. And what else?"

"They killed Momma and Papa."

"What else?"

"You saved me."

The dark figure seemed to regard him thoughtfully, as if he was pleased with his response. Then he asked, "Are you hurt?"

The boy shook his head. "No."

"Good. What's your name?"

The boy told him. "What's going to happen to me now?" he asked.

The dark figure didn't answer. Instead, he beckoned him to follow and said, "Come with me."

The boy froze for the briefest of moments, but then cautiously climbed out of bed. If the dark figured noticed his reluctance, he said nothing about it.

The boy followed the dark figure through a labyrinthine fortress. It was made of massive stones and was perpetually dark, lighted only by intermittent torches mounted along the walls. Also along the walls were huge tapestries, each one telling a different story. Some depicted battles. Others showed certain men and even women, depicting scenes from each of their lives. The boy glanced at each one as he walked by. The ends of the tapestries were always the same—always ending by sword or fire or even magic. And then the boy realized something: the dark figure was in every one of them.

They walked for a little bit more, but then the boy finally summoned enough courage to ask a question. "What's your name?"

The dark figure gave a chuckle of sorts. "Jack."

The boy picked up his pace slightly to walk alongside him. "Are you famous, Mr. Jack?"

The dark figure stopped suddenly and looked down at his tiny companion. The boy unconsciously tensed under the gaze of those piercing yellow eyes. Was he angry? "You could say that." He didn't sound angry.

They continued walking again.

"Tell me, boy. Have you ever heard the story of Jack of Blades?"

"No, sir," the boy replied. "Are you Jack of Blades?"

"You mean you've never heard?"

"No, sir."

The figure seemed pleasantly surprised. "Well, that's okay. You'll learn soon enough."

A few more minutes of twists and turns and Jack finally stopped at a particular tapestry. The boy looked at it. It was mostly blank—unfinished—save for the top. The boy squinted. It depicted the events of last night! He could see himself and the Balverines; he could see his parents, and then there was Jack coming to his rescue!

The boy looked up at Jack questioningly.

"This is a tapestry of your life," he said. "There is an old cliché that says that life is not what happens to you but rather what you _do_ with what happens to you. Essentially, it means that every action you take has a consequence, and those consequences can tell you how you have lived your life, whether it was good life or a bad life.

"But there are some people to whom this cliché does not apply. Their life literally _is_ what happens to them. They have no choice over what to do because their choices are dictated to them by others."

The boy blinked, not really understanding.

"I know you don't understand it now, but you will later." He beckoned him forward. "Come with me. I have something else I want to show you."

While they were walking on, the boy couldn't shake the feeling that this was very bad. He didn't know why; he just felt it.

"Earlier you asked me what was going to happen to you," Jack said into his silent musings. "Well, I'll say this: you're going to live with me from now on. You will do what I tell you when I tell you, and if you disobey me, you will be punished. Do you understand?"

The boy swallowed but nodded dutifully. Yes. Yes, he did understand—all too well.

Jack finally led him into a great room. It was large and cylindrical, and right in the center was an elaborately carved throne, fashioned out of some strange rock that shimmered even in the darkness. But Jack was not focused on that. Instead, he was directing the boy's attention to the walls where even more tapestries hung.

"Do you see these tapestries?"

The boy didn't reply. He was too awed by them. They were large and magnificent. The first tapestry showed the formation of the world. It was the same story his parents had told him, but this one showed something different: a dark being walking amidst the fire and chaos. The clothing wasn't the same, but the boy immediately recognized the white mask.

He looked up at Jack.

"I was there at the beginning of the world. I am older than you could ever count."

The boy went on to the next tapestry, which showed all sorts of scary creatures he had heard about from storybooks, like dragons and the Balvorn, but these were apparently real. And then came man in the next tapestry and then great and terrible wars in the next. In the midst of each was Jack.

"Today, you will learn who I am, but not in stories that were designed to scare children. From my own lips you will learn my name."


	3. Chapter 1 Pt 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fable, Maze, or Jack. 

SUMMARY: He was the pawn of Jack of Blades his entire life. This is Maze's story.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, seriously, I'm going on hiatus now! What can I say? I'm having a blast writing this story. But now the angel on my shoulder is _screaming_ at me to get back to my homework. Expect a week's delay. Have fun everyone!

**Fable**

**Dawn of Sorrows**

** Chapter One**

_I knew from that moment on that my life was not my own. I belonged to him. His words were my life. And I hated him._

**--From the Diary of Maze**

"You are not concentrating," Jack scolded him disapprovingly.

The boy gritted his teeth, the muscles in his face taut. "But it's too hard," he choked out.

Even from behind the mask, the boy felt Jack's powerful glare, effective as any physical blow. "DO. NOT. SAY. THAT!" he growled, and the boy cringed, afraid that he might actually strike him. But the dark figure paused, and then he said more quietly. "The power is in you. You just need to claim it."

The boy nodded nervously, releasing a breath and then gathering his senses. Once again he took a stand against the target.

Two years had passed since the boy had come into the care of Jack of Blades, and he trained everyday ever since. An attendant would wake him up just at the crack of dawn and pass him off to a trainer who took him outside for morning calisthenics. Then after that, he was passed off to a second trainer for tutoring in the library and then back to the first trainer for weapons training. Then at the close of the day, the boy was usually back inside where he would spend the rest of the evening learning the old arcane languages, but today was a very special day; it was the first day of his Will training, and this was something that Jack decided to oversee for himself.

He remembered that long ago, in his old life, his father would tell him stories about the Heroes, how that some of them were masters of the sword, others masters of the bow and arrow, and still others masters of the Will. He had said that Heroes went into strict training to become who they are. And even though the boy knew that he wasn't training to become a Hero—that he could never become a Hero—he was still excited to be learning their esteemed arts, _especially_ the Will powers.

The boy focused on the practice dummy in front of him. He extended an arm, clearing his mind just as Jack had told him. All of time seemed to be concentrated in this moment. He could already feel the tingling in his fingertips. This was as far as he had ever gotten. Instead of letting himself get excited, he pushed out all distractions, focusing on the sensation, cultivating it, making it grow. Finally, it grew too large for him to handle, and he threw the offending powers at the practice dummy before him—an arch of lightning—setting it on fire. The ear-popping sonic boom brought him back to the present world.

The boy blinked, staring at his handiwork with shock and awe. He did it! He looked up at Jack who sagely nodded at him. "Well done, boy. Let's see that again."

The boy selected his next target—the dummy next to it—and this time, it was easier than the first; he destroyed the straw figure with ease. Without prompting, he went on to the next one and the next one until finally, all the dummies were in flames.

But such success didn't come without a price. He almost didn't catch himself in time. His legs were buckling under him. His breathing was heavy. And his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He looked up at Jack helplessly.

"Your zeal is commendable, but you have learned the first rule of using the Will." He hand the boy a small vial. It was filled with some sort of blue liquid. Carefully popping the top, the boy downed the liquid. It was thick and very refreshing. Almost instantly, he could feel his body stabilizing. "Learn to conserve your magicks, lest you find yourself in an undesirable situation and unable to defend yourself."

"Yes, sir," he said solemnly.

Jack seemed to regard the boy carefully, and he shifted uncomfortably under his piercing gaze. Jack was plotting something, and he knew it. "One last exercise," he said. "Wait here." The dark figure took several paces and once again turned and faced the boy. "Now, attack me!"

The boy blinked. Surely he had to be kidding!

The boy cried out as an arch of lightning caught him in the legs. Jack stood with his arm extended. "Attack me!" he demanded.

The boy rolled out of the way of the second salvo, taking refuge behind a barrel as he struggled to re-gather his senses. What was going on? Why would Jack do this?

The boy felt, rather than heard, the next salvo and once again leapt out of the way. The barrel exploded behind him, splinters embedding in his skin, and now he was out in the open. Angry and betrayed, the boy shed all feelings of self-control. He rushed Jack, hands extended, lightning flying from his fingertips, determined to bring him down. But before it could strike him, Jack launched a barrage of his own, meeting the boy's in mid-air.

The meeting of magicks caused the boy to stand his ground. He brought his other hand up, hoping to reinforce his attack, but Jack was too powerful. Briefly his mind flashed back to that fateful night. Jack had destroyed those Balverines as if they were nothing… Then a horrible revelation washed over him: the dark figure never would have allowed him to last this long unless he wished it; Jack was toying with him.

The boy saw a bright flash, and the next thing he knew, he was thrown high into the air. He landed on his back, the air knocked out of his lungs, his whole body tingling with electrical energy. He shook his head groggily. There were the sound of footsteps, and Jack's masked visage came into sight. All the boy could do was lay there, too weak to move. "You have now learned the second rule of using Will powers: You _cannot_ beat me."

REVIEWER'S NOTES:

**Seda**: I have the PC version of Fable: The Lost Chapters.

**imsooocool12**: Um… okay… that doesn't really help me. Help me improve. Be constructive, please. :)

**Everyone else**: Thanks for the encouragement!


	4. Chapter 1 Pt 2

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fable, Maze, or Jack.

SUMMARY: He was the pawn of Jack of Blades his entire life. This is Maze's story.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, I've got a minor update for ya'll. I hope you enjoy it, as it took me forever to get it the way I wanted it.

**Fable**

**Dawn of Sorrows**

It was dark; the only source of light was a flickering candle mounted on a tall stand. The boy was in his room, sitting at a small table with his arm resting on either side of a very large book inscribed with glowing runes. He was supposed to be studying. Instead, he sat numbly, staring at the wall in the distance.

Images flashed in his head, images of what had happened earlier today. He saw the lightning; he felt its effects, and his whole body shuddered just thinking about it. It hurt so badly. His skin burned, and when he hit the ground, his muscles ached and his hands shook terribly. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't—not in front of Jack, _never_ in front of Jack. And yet there he was, standing over his fallen body and gloating.

_You cannot beat me._

_In this world, the strong live and the weak perish._ _When I found you, you were weak—powerless—unable to stop the Balverines from slaughtering your parents. But I saved you. I took you in. And I trained you._

_But now, with your newfound Will powers, I can make you even stronger. You won't ever have to be powerless again._

_Prove to me that I made the right choice. Prove to me that you are strong._

The boy slowly brought himself back to the present. He looked down at the book on the table and gently lifted its cover. The glowing runes shifted ever so slightly.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember much simpler times—before he met Jack, before his parents were killed. But the images failed to come. His memories were distorted. All he could see were the grotesque faces of his poor, dead parents, bloodied and torn.

The boy swallowed. How he missed them. How he wished he could go back and do things all over again. Then his parents wouldn't have to die, and they could be together again. They could be a family. But something checked in his spirit, and deep down, he knew that that would never happen. His parents were gone—and he was alone.

But then he thought about Jack. Jack—the dark figure in the white mask. Jack—the one who saved him from the jaws of death. Jack—the one who held his life in the palm of his hand. The boy was terrified of Jack. Even at such a tender age, he was painfully aware of his own mortality. Jack could snap him like a twig without a second thought. To the boy, disobedience was unthinkable, but to turn his back on his savior was even worse.

He closed the book in front of him. There would be no studying tonight. How could he study anyway when he was at the cusp of his destiny?

He held his hand into the air, his elbow resting on the table. He looked at it with lazy interest, twisting it from side to side as electricity danced up and down his fingertips.

Jack taught him how to do that, and Jack could make him even stronger. And then the boy wouldn't ever have to be powerless again. And then maybe, when he was strong enough, he could be someone great.

_Prove to me that you are strong._ Jack reached out to the fallen boy.

And the boy stared at the proffered hand. There he was, presented with a choice: life or death, being strong or being forever weak. And to the boy, there really was no choice at all. Where else could he run? To whom could he turn? His parents were dead, and Jack was his life now.

And so the boy reached out his hand and he took it.

REVIEWER'S NOTES:

**Seda**: Shhh! You're giving away all my secrets! ;)

**Alice Redqueen**: Mmmm… cookies. But anyway, yeah, Maze's relationship to Jack utterly fascinates me. A pity that characterization was not one of Fable's strong points. TLC did a slightly better job than the original, but they _still_ could've done _so_ much more. -cry-


	5. Chapter 2 Pt 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fable, Maze, or Jack. 

SUMMARY: He was the pawn of Jack of Blades his entire life. This is Maze's story.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yay! Finally, an update! Apologies for the delay. Some of it was due to procrastination, some of it to homework, some of it to writer's block, and some of it to replaying Fable. About that… I've decided that Fable has some glaring inconsistencies that annoy me to no end. Leave it to Lionhead to write a plot hole so big you could drive a starship through it. Grrr! This might affect my story or it might not. Oh well, I'll elaborate later when I write the relevant pieces. In the meantime, enjoy!

**Fable**

**Dawn of Sorrows**

**Chapter Two**

_You cannot imagine how many lives he has wrecked…_

**--Maze**

"Wake up!"

The boy mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over, the voice quickly forgotten. He would quickly regret it. A single bolt of lightning jabbed him in the back, so forceful he spilled onto the stone floor. He released a surprised shout. Had it been any other lifetime, he might've found it funny, but the boy's life was long since devoid of humor.

Now, so rudely awakened, he peered over the edge of the bed, jerking in surprise to see Jack's masked figure. "Get yourself ready and meet me in the courtyard," and with that he was gone, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance.

The bewildered boy gingerly picked himself off the floor, rubbing the sore spot on his back and silently wondering what that was all about. _Something_ was up, but for the life of him, he couldn't possibly think of what could be so important that Jack would wake him up himself rather than entrust this task to his usual morning attendant. But whatever it was, he'd best not keep Jack waiting.

The boy sighed, stealing one last glance at the empty doorway before setting out in search of a change of clothes.

Four years had passed since Jack had personally taken the boy under his wing, six years since the death of his parents. And everyday he continued to train. Under Jack's tutelage the boy learned much, but his teacher also had a streak of singular cruelty. Every accomplishment was met with mockery and insults—true praise was far and few between—and every failure was met with a painful burst of magical lightning. Jack was always demanding something of him, and everyday the boy pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion to accomplish it. The boy hated it, and he hated Jack for it, but he also had a certain fear and respect for the man so that he could never lift a hand against him—even if it were possible.

Jack was waiting in the courtyard as promised. The boy shivered. The sun wasn't even up yet, and it was dreadfully cold. Even the gentle wind was biting against his exposed skin. The boy pulled his cloak tighter around him. He approached the dark figure with complete deference, if not with a little bit of query.

Jack ignored his silent question. "Take my hand."

The boy swallowed. He dreaded any physical contact with the man, but his tone booked no room for hesitancy or doubt. He gripped the man's gauntlet; it was cold as death. A melodious ring swirled about them, and the two disappeared in a haze of magical light.

The first thing he noticed about his new surroundings was the stench. It was the smell of burning wood and flesh. All the shanty houses were ablaze, and he could hear the horrified screams coming from within. Outside, bodies lay strewn on the ground. Some he recognized to be the guards of Jack's citadel. Others—well, they appeared to be human enough, except for one thing: they all had white hair.

A village of Will users?

Before he could make any more sense of it, Jack took off running. The boy ran after him, dodging fallen bodies, small fires, fierce combatants, and smoldering buildings. What was going on here?

He tried to keep up with Jack as best he could, but the man's stride was much longer than his own. Soon, Jack's dark figure was out of sight. The boy slowed to a halt, leaning on his knees to catch his breath. _Great. That's just great, _he thought to himself. He took a few deep breaths to calm his pounding heart, but he dare not stay here for too much longer; the battle was still raging all around him.

He was about to take off running again when he felt the ground rumbling under him. The boy's legs became as jelly. Something was rising out of the ground! There was a mighty earthen roar, and all the boy could do was roll out of the way as a massive rock troll emerged from where he was standing just moments before.

Fear gripped his heart at the sight of the monstrous creature. Few people have ever gazed upon a rock troll, and even fewer have lived to tell about it, much less summoned the courage and the power to bring it down. It was easily four or five times his own height and would be impervious to any of his physical attacks. He would have run, but the troll was the only thing standing between him and Jack. He had to get around it. Despite his fear, he could already feel his training kicking into action.

The creature let up a mighty roar and bent down to seize a big chunk of the earth. Lofting it into the air, the troll hurled it at the defending boy. But he was smaller and faster and he easily dived out of the way. The ground shook with the forceful impact.

Bruised only, the boy quickly recovered and was back on his feet. He held his arm out, his mind focusing all its power on his first attack. Already he could feel the heat that was in the air gather around his arm and cause it to glow. Waves of it spilled off and warmed his cold face, yet his blazing arm remained untouched. Suddenly, he became aware of another upcoming salvo and dodged it just in the nick of time. The flying dirt of the boulders stung against his face, but amazingly enough, his spell remained intact.

Finally, the fireball became too much for him to handle, and he hurled his fiery projectile at the massive creature. It caught the rock troll in the face, and the creature roared in agony. It thrashed about, flinging pebbles and other small rocks left and right. The boy fell to one knee as a fist-size rock struck him in the thigh. Shrugging it off, the boy took this as his chance to escape.

But he ran smack into something else. Falling at its feet, the boy looked up to see a white-haired man, standing regally with his arms in the air. Even with the boy's largely undeveloped Will powers, he could still sense the power flowing off the man in waves. A summoner—either that or he was somehow enslaving the rock troll to do his bidding.

The boy's poor sense of direction jarred the man from his spell, and he looked down at the boy with incredible surprise. "A child?" The boy gasped; the man's eyes were glowing.

He backed away from the man, still too bewildered to clamber to his feet. Suddenly, he became aware of the rock troll that was still behind him, and the thing hadn't forgotten the injustice that was inflicted upon its face. The monster roared, stomping toward him with murderous rage.

He thought for sure that he was about to die—a bloodied smear in some nameless town—but thankfully, that didn't happen. There was a flash of light and a thunderclap, and suddenly the rock troll was completely without a face. The boy looked up to see the decapitated creature swaying dangerously. There was another burst of lightning, and the thing fell backward. The earth trembled and a shower of dust erupted into the air.

The boy shielded his face against the offending particles, but it was still enough to make his eyes water and his lungs sting. When he could finally see and breathe again, he looked back up at the man, but it wasn't he who had destroyed the creature. Instead, Jack strode up, his fingers still crackling with electricity. The Will user turned to face the newcomer, but he jerked in surprise at the sight of the man. Was that horror? His eyes darted between Jack's and the boy's own, as if trying to make sense of the situation. Finally, his gaze came to rest on the boy. He seemed to have an epiphany, and realization dawned on his face.

"Y-you don't know what you're doing," he said with all the desperation of a man who knew that his end was near.

And Jack acknowledged that. "Your line is ended. You will serve me now."

In an instant, the Will user fell, pierced through the shoulder with a magical bolt. The boy cringed. He had seen this ritual before, and it never ceased to chill his blood. Jack raised his black gauntlet into the air, palm up. A fierce wind seemed to emerge from the ground under the dying man. The Will user screamed, a howl so piercing and so unnatural that the boy had to cover his ears. It was the cry of impending undeath. It was the cry of a screamer. The boy watched in horror as the man's spirit was torn from his body. It swirled into a massive vortex, tossing hair and leaves and fabric until it finally came to rest in Jack's hand. Then, he crushed it.

All was quiet now in the battle for the village. The only sounds were the raging fires and Jack's guards picking off the rest of the survivors.

The dark figure walked over to where the boy still lay. His yellow eyes seemed to boil with contempt. "Weak," he growled. "Don't make me rescue you a third time."

The boy swallowed, fear and anger welling up within him, but he said nothing. Instead, he picked himself up and the two continued their jog into the carnage.


End file.
